Printshop? What Printshop? Take me to the whore house!

Everyone is like “Oh my gosh I can’t wait for the print shop!” “The reunion is going to be all kinds of amazing!” “Do you think Jamie will faint as gracefully as described in the book?” “The looks on Jamie and Claire’s faces when they see each other is going to break my heart!” And I’m over here like yeah, yeah, yeah just take me to the whore house! I wholeheartedly agree that the Print Shop scene is going to be amazing however, I’m amazed that fans aren’t non-stop chattering about the Brothel scene, it’s everything we’ve been waiting for in an intimate scene for Jamie and Claire — rough and tender, desperate and secure and all the romantic oxymoronic elements that are Jamie and Claire. Also we are just plain old ready to feast our eyes upon some JAMMF, ok?

We’ve been without our bronzed to perfection, heavenly endowed, highlander for twenty god-forsaken years and it’s time for him to be naked, now. All Outfanders said AMEN!

The whore house, located just off the Royal Mile, is where Jamie and Claire end up that night following the Print Shop reunion (it would be my pleasure to ride a royal mile with you Mr. Fraser…pun intended). Sorry I couldn’t help myself.

After a bit of a bumpy interception of a one Mr. Willoughby, Jamie and Claire make it to a brothel located right off the aptly named, Royal Mile, where Jamie (to Claire’s surprise) has a regular room. Oh no he didn’t…we all think. Well, he did, but it’s not what we think…more about that later.

The title of this Chapter is called House of Joy, and my oh my, it is nothing short of that. Jamie and Claire are still a bit shy with each other as they continue to get acquainted with the people they have become over the past twenty years. The one thing that hasn’t changed is their passion and deep unwavering love for one another.

“What about you? How do you know what I’m like? You don’t know what I’ve been doing for the last twenty years, either. I might be a horrible person, for all you know!”
The smile on his lips moved into his eyes, lighting them with humor. “I suppose ye might, at that. But, d’ye know, Sassenach—I dinna think I care?”
I stood looking at him for another minute, then heaved a deep sigh that popped a few more stitches in my gown.
“Neither do I.”
It seemed absurd to be shy with him, but shy I was. The adventures of the evening, and his words to me, had opened up the chasm of reality—those twenty unshared years that gaped between us, and the unknown future that lay beyond. Now we had come to the place where we would begin to know each other again, and discover whether we were in fact the same two who had once existed as one flesh—and whether we might be one again.

Diana Gabaldon – From – Voyager chapter 25

The insatiable longing that has built over the past 20 years between Jamie and Claire will make for some pretty steamy make-up/reunion sex. Holy moly **fans self**

Put yourself in the moment, close your eyes and imagine that you are finally alone in a room with the LOVE of your LIFE after twenty years of separation. You’re nervous, excited, timid and your heart is lit aglow with the fire of life renewed. Things are the same and it is comforting, yet different enough to make the rediscovery incredibly exciting.

I have a feeling that the scene will be somewhat reminiscent of the wedding episode. Together in the saftey of a small quiet room, sharing a simple meal together and having sex with someone you are just getting to know…again…

” Give me your mouth, Sassenach,” he said softly, and bent to me. His head blotted out the candlelight, and I saw nothing but a dim glow and the darkness of his flesh as his mouth touched mine.

Gently, brushing, then pressing, warm, and I opened to him with a little gasp, his tongue seeking mine. I bit his lip, and he drew back a little, startled.

“Jamie,” I said against his lips, my own breath warm between us. “Jamie!” That was all I could say, but my hips jerked against him, and jerked again, urging violence. I turned my head and fastened my teeth in the flesh of his shoulder. He made a small sound deep in his throat and came into me hard. I was tight as any virgin and cried out, arching under him.

“Don’t stop!” I said. “For God’s sake, don’t stop!” His body heard me and answered in the same language, his grasp of my wrists tightening as he plunged hard into me, the force of it reaching my womb with each stroke. Then he let go of my wrists and half-fell on me, the weight of him pinning me to the bed as he reached under, holding my hips hard, keeping me immobile. I whimpered and writhed against him, and he bit my neck.

“Be still,” he said in my ear. I was still, only because I couldn’t move. We lay pressed tight together, shuddering. I could feel the pounding against my ribs, but didn’t know whether it was my heart, or his. Then he moved in me, very slightly, a question of the flesh. It was enough; I convulsed in answer, held helpless under him, and felt the spasms of my release stroke him, stroke him, seize and release him, urging him to join me. He reared up on both hands, back arched and head thrown back, eyes closed and breathing hard. Then very slowly, he bent his head forward and opened his eyes. He looked down at me with unutterable tenderness, and the candlelight gleamed briefly on the wetness on his cheek, maybe sweat or maybe tears.
“Oh, Claire,” he whispered. “Oh, God, Claire.” And his release began, deep inside me, without his moving, shivering through his body so that his arms trembled, the ruddy hairs quivering in the dim light, and he dropped his head with a sound like a sob, his hair hiding his face as he spilled himself, each jerk and pulse of his flesh between my legs rousing an echo in my own. When it was over, he held himself over me, still as stone for a long moment. Then, very gently, he lowered himself, pressed his head against mine, and lay as if dead.”

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Published by Lauren Kearney Writes

I am a writer and a lover of stories. I am fascinated by the process of the written word transforming into a beautiful imagery captured in one's mind that is unique to the individual reader or writer. Whether fantastical or mundane, a story can not come to life unless it is told to another. I want to share my stories, the happy, the heart breaking, the life changing, the real, the imagined and everything in between. It is a brave thing to really be seen by sharing your story. So dear reader share your story because we all have stories worth telling.
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Lauren
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18 thoughts on “Printshop? What Printshop? Take me to the whore house!”

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Love your blog Lauren. You and I think alike. I have read the brothel scene so many times, I feel I could recite it by heart. I am curious to why nothing has been mentioned about this scene. One thought is they may just play this scene out above the print shop. I hope not. Keep the blogs coming girl😉

BAHAHAHAAAAA!!!!! ❤ . Omg, you just seriously light up my DAY with your writing 😀 And also, since I haven't gotten far in the books (lack of time away from family/responsibilities), thank you thank you for including excerpts…. PER~FECT! ❤ (sing-song voice).